My clothes and gloves were covered in blood that stuck to everything I touched. I peeled off the gloves and broke out my supply of disposable baby wipes and bottled water I kept in my bug out bag. About a mile from the warehouse I stopped at a roadside turnout to clean up. After my hands and face were scrubbed, I stripped off outer layers of clothing and put on a jogging suit, stepped into a pair of tennis shoes, and laced them up tight. This was comfortable, casual, and clean. I bagged my clothes, shoes, and proceeded to wipe down the interior of the Avenger, for any trace of blood. Minutes later I was on the road looking for a spider hole.
On the northern outskirts of Sacramento I pulled into a motel to get a shower and much-needed sleep. It was chancy to stay in the area. The license plate numbers or my vehicle make and model might be reported to the police. It was a chance I had to take. I didn’t have extra plates with me.
I crossed the border into Oregon just after four o’clock the next afternoon. I stopped by a diner to enjoy a quiet meal and scan the daily newspaper. “Kidnap Victim Rescued by Good Samaritan” the headline story read. That wouldn’t last long when they found Pidd murdered. Lots of hoopla leading the public to believe something great and wonderful was done but I didn’t feel that way. Sure, Helen didn’t die. Pidd had been saving that for last but I could only imagine how he had violated her innocence. I didn’t really know what torment and trauma he put her through and I didn’t want to know. I didn’t live for the details; I lived to execute. That was my passion and my desire. In Helen’s case I had stumbled across her accidentally. It was too little, too late, to save her from the likes of Pidd as far as I was concerned. Too little on the part of the judicial system in allowing this predatory animal back into society and too late for the prosecutors to promise Stewart Pidd would remain behind bars for the rest of his life. Besides, I’d made the prosecutor’s usual promise a moot point.
I was eager to contact Sasins to see how it went when she turned Helen over to the authorities. My hope was the police didn’t put her through the wringer. My experience with the Estelle Hertz case had taught me witnesses got the brunt of the interrogation while criminals lawyered up and went unscathed.
Anna, however, was not Hertz and was well skilled in police interrogation and tactics. If Sasins broke and rolled over on me, I might have company awaiting my return. I didn’t like the thought of the police as my enemies, I would have liked to think we were on the same team but I knew we couldn’t be.
Chapter 15
DNA matches have changed the face of guilt;
It has made those at fault guiltier.
—Walter
My immediate concerns were put to rest when I pulled into my driveway at home without being arrested. Foremost on my agenda was communication with Anna. There were questions I needed to ask, her answers could give me insight to what the future held for me. To clear my guilty conscience required that I apologize for getting her mixed up in the rescue.
Archangel,
Thank you seems shallow for your help with Helen. I found myself wedged between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, I had to get her out of the situation; on the other, I could not reveal myself as the rescuer. Too much would have to be explained. You saved the day. Helen was reunited with her parents and the police knew little, if anything about me and my involvement. Again, thanks.
Scythian
A week after Helen’s rescue the kidnapping was no longer the lead story and the media were looking for another story of atrocious criminal behavior to sensationalize. There was little in the news of interest to me. Short snippets appeared showing Pidd’s photo and asking the public for help in locating him. The Aloha police department was broadcasting a Crimestoppers advertisement looking for any information on the alleged kidnapping. I could give ‘em a tip on where to find him but why spoil their fun.
Anna’s response went a long way toward putting my mind at ease. She had informed the police a man had called her and said he had information pertaining to Helen Beck, but would not give his name. The man refused to give any details over the phone and demanded a face-to-face meeting—it wasn’t the first time she had received anonymous information this way. Anna didn’t know why he selected her as a go-between. Anna told investigators she was totally blown away when the man opened his car door and pulled the little girl out. Before she could ask any questions the man recited an address then jumped into the car and drove away. She didn’t get a license number and was too distracted by the turn of events to give an accurate detailed description of the man or his car. Anna’s inside sources revealed authorities were satisfied with the information given to them. She believed there was little reason to be concerned about anything Helen might recall from her rescue. She was emotionally compromised. It might be years before she was able to provide details about her time in captivity or the man who rescued her. Anna ended on a positive note to keep me informed on any developments in the case. I would later learn Anna’s resources reached into areas I would never have imagined and would prove valuable in keeping my neck out of the noose.
I couldn’t help thinking Anna was aware of her part in my quest; regardless, she asked nothing of me and I was comfortable with that. Receiving frequent updates from Sasins became the norm. Sometimes it was the press release, info passed out to all news agencies. At other times it was a tidbit from one of her sources passed to me by email. She assumed I’d taken care of Pidd although it had never been discussed.
Anna’s next email contained both good and bad news.
Scythian,
Hot off the Sacramento wire, “Police say, fire not cause of death in warehouse blaze.” My source tells me Stewart Pidd’s remains were identified and the state medical examiner’s office has made the final identification and classified it as a homicide. His name is being withheld at this time. Investigators are not elaborating on the case except that his badly burned body was discovered by firefighters as they finished extinguishing hotspots in the warehouse complex fire. Local police confirmed the fire was intentionally set and there is a homicide investigation in progress. Detective Ware and task force members have been in contact with local authorities in Sacramento and are expected to arrive there soon. I doubt all this is news to you but I wanted you to know Pidd was located. My source will continue to feed information as the case progresses.
Archangel
Pidd’s body had been found and the authorities knew he was murdered. The most likely suspect would be the unidentified and unaccounted-for Good Samaritan, who for unknown reasons had been digging around Stew’s house. This was the foundation cornerstone Ware and posse was looking for. This would be critical to the construction of the case, not against Pidd but against a murdering entity—me.
Email from Anna was becoming more and more frequent.
Scythian,
It is important I talk with you. Call me.
Archangel
Well, I liked the straight-up approach. Beating around the bush tires me out—this was as direct as communication got. I owed her this one. Throwaway cell phones were going to get expensive. I made the call.
“Anna Sasins.”
“This is Scythian.”
Anna paused momentarily and then whispered, “I picked up reliable information on the task force. Detective Ware is setting up a sting operation, code name Vigilant Response, in hopes of snaring the culprit they believe responsible for as many as five murders. Ware is convinced the killer is targeting sex offenders. He believes the victims have something more in common than their felonies. Possibly a link to some sort of media attention.”
“I think he’s barking up the wrong tree on media attention, Anna. Is Ware prepared for a large scale operation?”
“He has the full weight and resource of MCSD behind it.”
“What do you mean ‘full weight and resource’?”
“The task force will augment from regular patrols and off duty officers to man it around the clock.”
“Where are they planning t
o run this sting?”
“I don’t know, but I understand it is set to go active this coming Monday. It’ll be a high-profile case with plenty of media coverage for sure. Task force members are counting on the defendant fitting the criteria of a potential victim.”
“Have you heard of any cases coming up that would make good bait?”
“Seymour Johnson.”
Seymour had been in the news. The adult son of prominent Portland businessman, Richard Johnson, also known as Biggie D, appeared to be a chip off the old block. Richard had been photographed with high-end escorts for years and was well known to the Portland swinger scene. He slung a lot of power around locally and reportedly was well known in the world of organized crime as a connected man. The unfounded rumor about Biggie was he bought whatever he wanted. When his money wasn’t good enough to make a deal, he paid the right people to procure it for him. Money always talked one way or another.
Seymour was alleged to have promoted and distributed pornography, some of which included underage girls. The task force would ensure it had media coverage, providing it was the bait. Ware would not be setting this guy up, but monitoring the case closely hoping to catch a break if the hitter exposed him-or herself by the lure of Seymour.
“I know the name, thanks for the heads up, Anna.”
“Scythian, do you play chess?”
“Ah,” I muttered into silence.
What kind of left-field question was this? Did she want to get together, now we are acquainted, for a game of chess? Finally the words formed I was looking for. “I’ve played, but it’s not something that really interests me.”
“Oh, I think it would,” Anna quietly responded.
“Thanks again,” I said as I hung up the phone. I wasn’t really sure if it was time to hang up or what courtesy was expected but I didn’t want to engage in casual conversation with Anna. All the pertinent information was delivered and that was all I had called for. Now it was time to think through a strategy on how to handle the information.
On the one hand, it was a challenge. The gauntlet had been tossed down and a game of sorts, them against me, was expected. If I could pluck this bait out from under their noses, I could essentially win but there was nothing to win. If anything, it would prove Detective Ware’s theory right. Something I was not in a hurry to confirm. Besides, if Seymour caught the rap, he’d be locked up for a while. I could always kill him later. On the other hand, while the task force was tied up with around-the-clock coverage of this trial, the rest of the field was wide open for play. Maybe that was what Anna had alluded to by chess. Strategy.
Seymour’s trial began without incident, at least without any interruption from me. Biggie D was boisterous and condescending concerning the police and the prosecutor’s case—the reporter’s ate it up. Seymour had a stack of defense attorneys at his disposal. The trial was short and the jury deliberation long—too long. Not a good sign for the prosecution. A week into deliberation the jury announced it was unable to reach a verdict.
I watched the proceedings in the media, resisting the urge to personally attend. Based on the coverage, I was sure it was an attempt to draw me out. I was further tempted to drive around Biggie D’s place to see if I could spot the task force members. Pure curiosity was consuming me.
After the hung verdict, life resumed as normal. Seymour was free pending review of the charges. Prosecutors would have to determine if the case was viable and under the circumstances, it would probably never fly. Not because there was a lack of evidence to bring justice, but because there was a lack of integrity in the legal system. It was a big con.
Another month passed; things quieted down between Anna and me. There wasn’t much to talk about. The task force hadn’t been heard from since the sting had been ineffective at flushing out a serial killer. I kept myself busy working on a project. I would act on it soon. Destiny was guiding my hand.
Anna continued to puzzle me. I didn’t understand what she wanted. I was not interested in becoming emotionally involved but she seemed to want some level of personal relationship. I couldn’t get a handle on it. Her most recent email perplexed me.
Scythian,
What is your favorite chess piece?
Archangel
I was never a fan of small talk. How did I skillfully tell her I didn’t care about chess? If she was trying to make a point, that was fine, make it. She insisted on this social discourse but I was accustomed to life in the shadows. I was a mystery to everyone I crossed paths with and I was comfortable to exist in that manner. Even the profilers had taken notice—the person they sought was an introvert who existed on the outskirts of humanity.
Anna was a great person to know for a resource, but my interest was strictly business. I could invite more dialogue by responding to her with some corny answer about queen’s rook or some other time-wasting discourse but what was the point. I needed to be straight with her.
Archangel,
I’m not really a chess player, I’ve played but I’m a coffeehouse player and will never be taken seriously. Different pieces don’t mean much to me and I’m not into competition. Sorry, if I seem short on this subject but I have a myriad of things demanding my time and attention.
Scythian
Anna was quick to respond.
Scythian,
You may not see yourself as a chess player but I do. You play a very dangerous game of chess; winner takes all. You employ strategies and move aggressively to a checkmate; your ultimate reason for the play.
I imagine your chess piece as a Knight. You move unlike other pieces on the field of play. Your approach is the least detectable on the board; you attack at will. It fits you.
Archangel
Anna passed along a few tidbits she had picked up on, but that had dwindled away. I didn’t think Anna was holding anything back, although that was always possible. Nothing new from her as of late, even the media had slowed its antivigilante rhetoric as it searched for another soapbox it could use. Quiet was good, but I was about ready to liven it up a bit.
Jack Cass was another run-of-the-mill rapist, sort of. He was a middle-aged truck driver, never married, and maintained a low profile. According to Cass he was a closet homosexual who had a lot of one-night stands but no serious relationships. He liked to party, drink heavily, and dabbled in whatever drugs were available.
His trouble came when he offered a thirteen-year-old boy a ride home from such a party. According to the victim, Cass attacked him in the car and forced him into anal sex. The victim admitted he was too inebriated to fight Cass off. Cass also admitted to being high on a mixture of alcohol and morphine, did not remember what led up to the sex, but insisted the boy asked for sex. The victim insisted he never consented to the act and that he was hetrosexual. Cass maintained his innocence but was convicted. Justice was served.
In days gone by, guilt was more questionable but DNA matches have changed the face of guilt; it’s made those at fault guiltier. Following closely on the heels of DNA was the resurrection of the popular game show “Let’s Make A Deal,” only this time prosecutors were the emcees. But it was still just a game until Walter came into play. I changed the rules.
After a brief introduction at gunpoint as to why I was at Jack’s residence, he spun and ran a few feet. I didn’t like shooting people in the back but sometimes you had to do what you had to do. I punched his ticket for the next life; whatever it might bring.
I didn’t mention this project to Anna. Why should I, I didn’t have to prove anything to her. It was across the state line in Washington and as far as I knew, didn’t involve her sources. If she heard something, I had no doubt she would be quick to let me know.
A couple months crept by while I laid the foundation for my next project. When I finally got around to checking my email I found a message from Anna in my inbox.
Scythian,
Detective B. A. Ware has hung up his shield. FBI Agent Loren Odar has taken over the Pidd case. Sources have it Vigilant Resp
onse was Ware’s last bid to get the job done before FBI assumed responsibility. It is not clear as of yet whether they disbanded the task force or have designated a new one. Detective Ware made it indisputably clear he wasn’t playing second fiddle to any new academy grad, especially one who is arrogant and egotistical. I’ve met Agent Odar at a press conference. He appears very confident and is a five-year veteran of the Bureau. He boasts a small army of profilers and forensic investigators to help him crack the case. He jokes saying his biggest challenge will be getting to know the Pacific Northwest having lived his entire life on the East Coast. Although he did not address his transfer to the Portland office, it is his first lead position.
Archangel
Well, if Agent Odar had been working the case as Anna said, he had either managed to put a cork in the information leaks or there was no new information to be had. In any case, so far, it hadn’t impeded my progress. I’d chosen and closed in on my next project; I was just a few days away from another road trip.
September was one of my favorite months in Oregon. Coolness had returned to the mornings and I actually felt like getting up earlier than normal to enjoy a cup of coffee and smell the fresh air. I was finishing up with plans for my upcoming trip. This one was different from previous projects in a variety of ways. My target, Carlena Okie, was a fifty-year-old female whose flair for the entrepreneurial lifestyle had landed her a few years in the slammer.
Carlena, or Carrie as she prefers to be called, caught my eye because she confronted my thinking. Most of my life I had believed young teen girls were being kidnapped in America, taken across the Mexican border and sold into the sex slave trade. Now, before me, was the opposite scenario. Okie had been involved as the house mother where underage Mexican girls were transported to the United States and housed for the purpose of sex. Some of these girls were victims of lies whereas others were sold into slavery to pay off family debts. Regardless of how the girls were trapped in the trade, Okie was guilty of operating a lucrative sex-slave operation. When authorities pinched her in a sting, the Oregon native began to sing like a bird to get immunity from charges. She named Mexican suppliers and local johns in exchange for a sweet deal. She was the government’s star witness. She had to do time but not a lot. It turned out she was guilty of some human rights violations but the feds were able to mitigate her incarceration. Society was paid in full in no time. In my view, a short tour behind bars paid nothing for the pain she brought to dozens of girls.
Due Process Page 20
